*he's received something like the shock of his life yesterday -- not even losing a wing or dying could compare, not really -- after which he's proceeded to find the closest couch, grab a pillow, and collapse sobbing, curling around the pillow and crying like his heart is breaking (which isn't far from the truth); he won't even be able to sleep, ( Read more... )

*it's the day after the Gloria, one of the most amazing days of the year for angels, and in particular this angel, who was already far happier than he'd been in a long time -- it's a day of music, after all, a celebration of it, which usually makes him happier than usual -- not to mention that he's in love, he's in love (which he won't disclose on ( Read more... )

*he's been existing in much the same state for the past few days -- curled up on a couch somewhere, as small as he can make himself (wings included), expression nothing so much as completely blank, closed off, slightly dazed, eyes just a little glazed over -- even without the vague aura of something like brokenness around him, it's clear he's seen ( Read more... )

There's a room somewhere, tucked away so that it's not terribly out of the way but easily overlooked -- and there's a couch in that room, on which Jordan is sitting, cross-legged, playing the flute. He'll play soft, short segments of melodies -- prayers, secular songs, improvisations -- then set it down and simply sit in silence for a few moments ( Read more... )

*he's inside -- in a corner of the main room, someplace inconspicious but not impossible to find -- and he could be easily tracked down by the quiet, melodic strains of music audible throughout the room; they're issuing from his flute, with which he's curled up, small but appearing perfectly comfortable, wings folded around him* *his eyes are ( Read more... )